


Deny The Truth, That's Easier

by intergalxtic



Category: Firebringer - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Internalized Homophobia, Songfic, Underage Drinking, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalxtic/pseuds/intergalxtic
Summary: Jemilla has a reputation. Untouchable grades, head of the Student Council, plenty of friends. Many would call her popular. Everyone knows her name, but they don’t know her. She likes it that way.“You know, I think it’s time we put our little feud behind us, don’t you think?”“And how do you propose we do that?” Zazzalil crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow.“My Ma has gone away for the weekend, and I’m allowed one person to sleep over. I’m sure that’s more than enough time to work out our differences,”(inspired by the song Little Miss Perfect, from Write Out Loud)
Relationships: Jemilla & Molag (Firebringer), Jemilla/Zazzalil (Firebringer)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Deny The Truth, That's Easier

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Little Miss Perfect, sung by Taylor Louderman.

Jemilla has a reputation. Untouchable grades, head of the Student Council, plenty of friends. Many would call her popular. Everyone knows her name, but they don’t know her. She likes it that way. They decide whether to like or hate her based on close to nothing. Luckily for her, everyone seems to like her. Except one person.

Zazzalil. 

Smart girl, always getting in trouble. Her best friend Keeri made mutual friends with Jemilla’s, so they are always around each other during recess and lunch, not to mention the few classes they share. Like calculus, her least favourite class in more ways than one.

Maths certainly isn’t her strongest suit and it never has been, she finds it unnecessary. The teacher she landed this year is incompetent, not that she would ever say that to anyone. She gets easy A’s anyway, due to the strict study schedule she set. 

Her favourite subject is humanities or civics, because she believes that’s where her future lies. Learning about the world and politics, learning how she can improve the world. Of course she takes other subjects, but those are her best.

Her copious amounts of extracurriculars are what take up most of her time. Yearbook, Debate team, track, drummer in the school band along with music classes outside of school, as well as almost anything she can fit into her routine. 

Every morning, she wakes up at six-thirty on the dot. She always eats breakfast, even when she isn’t hungry. She used to straighten her hair, then eventually she realised it was too much hustle. Besides, she likes her hair curly. 

(previously) Straight hair, straight A’s, straight forward.

Yes, she is perfect. On the outside. 

That’s how people expect her to be, and what they want her to be. So that’s how she has to be. 

The bell rings for the end of the day, and students file out of the classrooms and into the hallways, tripping over each other to get to their lockers. Jemilla’s isn’t far from her english room, her last lesson of the day. She places her books neatly to the side, only keeping the books she needs for tonight's homework. She feels someone brush past her. She snaps her head up to see Zazzalil bounding past her, laughing with Keeri. 

Her heart flutters, before she has time to dwell, she shuts it down. Zazzalil may be pretty, but Jemilla doesn’t like her. Plus, they hate each other. Or, Jemilla tries to. It’s hard when you hang around the same people. She can’t like her, she can’t risk it. She can’t say a single word.

“Whaddya’ thinking about?” All of a sudden Emberly pops up beside her. Her locker is right next to Jemilla’s, and it isn’t always good, because it means questions like this.

“Nothing,” She answers, not looking away from her locker. “I have like three tests tomorrow, just a little stressed.”

“Ah, I see. I’ll see you?”

“Yep.” Jemilla isn’t normally this blunt, she simply has a lot on her plate at the moment. She puts on her brave face and starts walking out to the parking lot, where Molag picks her up. She only ever walks to school, it makes her feel more energised, and sometimes she runs into her friends if she runs late (which is rarely).

“How was your day?” Molag asks as Jemilla slumps into the front seat. 

“It was good! But band practise is cancelled for tomorrow, if you have to work I can walk,” Jemilla says, dumping her bag by her feet and yanking her seatbelt down.

“I’ve actually been called to this meeting in the state over, I’ll be leaving in the morning, coming back Sunday afternoon.” Molag smiles goofily, and Jemilla gives a dramatic groan, chuckling afterward. “No parties, but you can have a friend sleep over if you want.”

A friend. Hmm. 

Later that night, Jemilla tries to study, except she can’t get herself to focus. Strange. Her mind keeps going back to Zazzalil. This has been happening more often with each passing week, it’s a miracle her schoolwork hasn’t dropped. She’s always found other girls pretty, but it wasn’t the same as she felt with boys, right? It’s different. Right? Why all these doubts? 

  
  


There is only one thing Jemilla’s calculus teacher is good at, it’s getting the results out. They always get them the day of, unusually fast. 

“Jemilla, what did you get?” Schwoopsie asks, frowning and folding her paper in half.

“Ninety-one percent,” She bites her lip. Not her best, though definitely not her worst either. She hears Zazzalil gasp beside her, and she snaps her head up. “What?”

“I got a higher score than the smartest girl at school!” She exclaims, gaping at her papers. Jemilla can feel her competitive side revving.

“Oh yeah? I’m sure you’ve gotten higher than me many times.” She rolls her eyes. “What was your score anyway?”

“Ninety-five!” Zazzalil jumps like a five-year-old getting candy, then pouts at Jemilla. “Jealous?”

“No.”  _ Yes. _ Jemilla thinks back to her conversation with Molag yesterday. “You know, I think it’s time we put our little feud behind us, don’t you think?”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Zazzalil crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow, Jemilla promptly looks away. 

“My Ma has gone away for the weekend, and I’m allowed one person to sleep over. I’m sure that’s more than enough time to work out our differences,” Jemilla suggests. “And learn how to get along.”

“Sure it is,” Zazzalil scoffs. “What time?”

“Tonight, five o’clock.” She turns on her heel to walk away. “Don’t be late!”

Jemilla paces around her lounge room. It’s two minutes past five, and she’s already nervous.  _ She should be here by now! _ Who is she kidding, late is early for Zazzalil. She is nervous for no reason, she thinks. The butterflies in her stomach are residual from the difficult homework she had completed before. Her head jolts up when she hears a light tapping on the door. 

She swings it open, plastering on a sassy smile. “Welcome,” 

“So this is your house?” Zazzalil takes a moment to look around. “I thought you would have lived somewhere bigger.”

“Why would I if I only live with my Ma?” Jemilla leads her inside. Her house is small, with only a living room, kitchen and dining table on the bottom floor, two bedrooms and a bathroom on the top. It’s cozy, Jemilla likes it. She watches Zazzalil frown out of the corner of her eye, it’s clear she has questions that she opts to ignore. “Come upstairs,”

“Kay,” Zazzalil mumbles, very much unfocused as they go up the stairs. Jemilla escorts her into her room. 

She has plain white walls covered in photos, medals, posters and achievements. Fairy lights are strung above her double bed, where several neatly-placed coloured pillows lay. Her well organised desk in the corner, her schedule stuck to the wall. 

“Put your bag and stuff here,” She points to beside her bed, then jumps on. “Sit.”

Zazzalil haphazardly throws her things down, shuffling next to Jemilla.

“I guess this is the part where we get to know each other,” Zazzalil smirks. Before Jemilla can get her question in, she’s asking, “So, what’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Jemilla is taken aback, her anxiety intensifying. She lets out an awkward laugh. “I-I thought you were gonna ask my favourite colour or something,”

“I can be deep if I want.” She picks at her chipped nail polish. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,”

“No, it’s okay.” Jemilla clears her throat, running her fingers through her hair. She gathers she should start from the beginning. “I was adopted at five, swore I would be the best I could be.”

“Is that where your ego comes from?” Zazzalil quips, ignoring the first half of her statement. Jemilla winces.  _ That’s fair, I guess. _

“Shut up,” She shakes her head, Zazzalil laughs at her despair. Her laugh is like honey, smooth and sweet. “Yeah, I don’t know what I did to get as far as I have. What about you?”

“Been bouncing around foster homes for years, my current one has been my longest.” She explains.

“I know,” Of course she did. Zazzalil isn’t exactly an open book, but it’s known among their friend group. 

“I guess we both have fucked childhoods.”

Jemilla hesitates. She never considered her childhood “fucked”, she can’t even remember much of the time before she was taken away, and she never wanted to ask. She did, however, not feel worthy of what she has been given. “I don’t… I- uh…”

“Don’t sweat it, J-Mills, you need to chill out.” Zazzalil snorts. “What are we having for dinner?”

“Oh, I’m gonna order a pizza.” 

“Do you have any alcohol?” She asks bluntly, staring directly into Jemilla’s eyes with a smile. Jemilla flushes bright red.

“We can’t drink!” She exclaims, internally cursing herself.

“I know you’ve been to parties with drinks before, you’re not that much of a goody-two-shoes.” She stands up abruptly, placing her hands firmly on her hips. 

“I might be,” Jemilla tries arguing, but the pleading yet mischievous look on Zazzalil’s face causes her to give in. Way too easily, she thinks. “Fine, I’ll see if we’ve got anything I can take without her noticing.”

“Yes!” Zazzalil skips excitedly out the room and down the stairs, ahead of Jemilla, who trails behind. 

Jemilla didn’t drink a lot, she’s still swaying. Zazzalil hasn’t had much either, she’s bouncing off the walls. It’s enticing, her endless energy and gorgeous smile. All her worries are gone, focused on the beautiful girl in front of her. They had eaten an entire pizza themselves, and now they are attempting to pick a movie.

“Wonder Woman!” Zazzalil declares. They are sitting on Jemilla’s bed, the only light coming from the fairy lights and her desk lamp across the room. 

“I think we should watch Little Women.” Jemilla raises her arms in defence when Zazzalil shoots her a glare. “What?”

“Wonder Woman is so much better,” She proclaims. Jemilla doesn’t feel like putting up a fight, sighing loudly. “We don’t have to watch a movie, we could just talk.” 

“That sounds great, Zazz.” The nickname slips naturally, and Jemilla’s heart swells as she watches a smile tug on her lips. 

“You know, you’re not actually that bad. I can’t believe I tried to hate you for so long.” Zazzalil says after a moment of silence. She gazes into Jemilla’s soft eyes, almost in some kind of trance.

“You don’t hate me?” Jemilla asks, biting her lip.

“Never really did. You did annoy the fuck out of me at times.”

“I feel the same way about you.” Jemilla admits quietly, finding the situation funny. They could have been friends for a long time.

“I can’t believe it took us this long.” 

“We’re both pretty stubborn.”

“I guess so.”

A moment passes, and something in Jemilla cracks. She turns to Zazzalil, taking her cheek in her hand and kisses her.  _ And Zazzalil kisses back _ . She slides her hand onto the small of Jemilla’s back and pulls her closer until their bodies are pressed together. The movie-deciding is long forgotten.

Almost as instantly as it started, it dawns on Jemilla what she’s doing. Her eyes shoot open, and she tears herself away from Zazzalil and scrambles off the bed to her feet. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, a shaky hand pressed to her forehead, sweeping up her bangs. 

Zazzalil gapes in concern, confused by the sudden change in mood. 

“Oh my god.” Jemilla whispers, her voice hoarse. “Oh my god,”

“Are you okay?” Zazzalil asks warily. “What’s the matter?”

“We just- I just-” Panic builds in her stomach, working its way up. “Y-you’re a girl… and I…”

“Are you not into girls? Because I just assumed, I mean, you were the one that kissed me,” Zazzalil chuckles uncomfortably, Jemilla starts pacing again.

“Oh my god…” She repeats. Her head spins faster than it ever has, reeling with all her withheld thoughts. “I shouldn’t, I can’t-”

“Woah, who says that you can’t?” Zazzalil interrupts Jemilla’s frantic mumbling, looking her dead in the eye. 

_ No-one. Only me. _

“I don’t… know,” Jemilla swallows hard, the lump in her throat growing larger. “It doesn’t matter.”

_ “It didn’t happen,” _ She adds in a low voice so Zazzalil doesn’t hear, however she does.

“Woah woah, wait, Jemilla,” Zazzalil moves onto her knees. “You can’t just brush past this.”

She gestures for Jemilla to sit again, she complies with a huff.

“Look, I think I know what’s happening,” Zazzalil starts with caution, wringing her hands together in her lap. “And from what I know about you, I don’t know if you will like what I am about to say.”

“Yeah?”   


“Ignoring, or hiding your feelings doesn’t make them go away. It doesn’t work that way. They always come out eventually, and it’s never good.” 

_ Who would have thought she is one to break? _ Jemilla thinks to herself.

“You probably feel a lot of pressure to be perfect, but liking girls isn’t gonna make you any less.” Zazzalil gently takes Jemilla’s hand, holding it tight. “And if people really like you, then they won’t care who you’re attracted to.”

Jemilla squeezes her eyes shut, a single tear rolling down her cheek, her chin tucked into her chest. Zazzalil makes sense, yet she still has a hard time wrapping her head around it. Such a small thing, a world of difference. And Jemilla’s never been good with change. 

She’s spent so much time hiding herself away, she isn’t sure she wants to come out of the shell she’s built around herself. Although, it’s starting to feel more like a wet blanket, not very protective. Maybe Zazzalil is right.

“Look, I spent years telling myself that I couldn’t be bi because whatever reason, I can’t even remember anymore. Figuring yourself out takes time,” She continues, drawing in a deep breath. “And I’m willing to be here for you.” 

“Thank you, Zazz.” Jemilla smiles coyly, not letting go of Zazzalil’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> please leave kudos and a comment, they are much appreciated.
> 
> feel free to follow my tumblr (same username)
> 
> thank you so much!!


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